


Put on the Red Light

by misshoneywell



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-19
Updated: 2016-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-26 03:07:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 19,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/645879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misshoneywell/pseuds/misshoneywell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being an escort wasn't exactly Katniss' dream job, but it paid the bills and her sister's tuition. Everything was going just fine until an unexpected client entered her life. Modern AU. Adult themes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [atetheredmind (s_e_irvine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/s_e_irvine/gifts).



"Hold the door," she calls out in desperation, her hand extended helplessly towards the steadily closing elevator. She's mentally calculating how fast she can run up the many flights of stairs to her left, her high heeled feet already protesting, when the door slides open to reveal a man in a wheelchair blinking up at her—a rather handsome man, at that, well-dressed and blond and pink cheeked. He'd look almost boyish if it wasn't for the tuxedo, and the slightly crinkled corners of his bright blue eyes.

"Thank you," she says breathlessly, her long black pea coat revealing two very toned, very appealing black clad legs. His eyes dart toward and away from her thighs so fast that someone who wasn't in the business of looking for these types of mannerisms would never have noticed. But, she does.

"What floor?" he asks politely, his hand hovering over the panel of buttons.

"Oh, um," she pauses and consults her phone, tapping quickly. "Thirty." She glances at the already lit up button on the panel. _Penthouse_.

She gives him a second, harder look and appraises him quickly, a gift she has learned to hone over the past year. She immediately hates herself for it, but the good looking man with kind eyes is staying in the penthouse suite at the Four Seasons, and she tells herself that she'd be remiss if she hadn't noticed something like _that_.

His tuxedo is clearly a hand crafted designer original, his leather dress shoes shined to such a clear perfection that she can see her reflection—as it is, she can spy the tops of her stockings, where the garter strap meets them, and as she spares another look towards the man, she realizes he probably could, too, especially from his seated vantage point. His pink stained cheeks are venturing more into the maroon category, and from the way her face is suddenly burning, she must look much the same.

 _Jesus! Get it together!_ she thinks to herself. _You're not some_ amateur _, why are you so off your game?_

She tugs at her pea coat and sends him a brief smile before focusing hard on the steel doors of the elevator.

 _Fifteen more minutes and my appointment is null and void_ , she stresses, peeking down to look at her phone again. She drops it into her bag with a huff, tired of stressing out. She absolutely cannot be late; her client tonight is very particular about punctuality, and she knows that he will not hesitate to turn her away at the door if she can't follow the most important request that was inked on the contract he had submitted to the agency.

As if fate is conspiring against her, the lights suddenly blink once, twice, and then the elevator stops completely in its tracks, just as it reaches the floor of her destination.

"Fuck!" she swears, blinking in the pitch blackness. She blindly searches her bag for her phone, thinking about the flashlight app that her friend Johanna had installed for her, despite her protests that _I'll never use that app, Jo. Ever_.

The blond man must have pressed the Call button for assistance. She hears an attendant's voice ring out through the call box speaker, assuring them that management is aware of the problem and that it should be fixed soon. All is silent in the elevator for a moment, and as she wraps her fingers around her phone, she is startled by the voice that resounds from her right.

"Are you okay?"

She jumps at the sound. The lights suddenly blink back on, and she thanks the Lord above for at least that small mercy. She looks over at the man beside her and gives him a tense nod. "Yes, I'm just in a bit of a hurry," she says with a smile that is more like a grimace.

"I understand," he says with an easygoing nod, not looking put out in the slightest that they were seemingly stuck in an elevator. "Nothing worse than being at the mercy of machinery, right?"

She gives a startling honest, barking laugh at his self-deprecating joke before flushing in realization. "I'm sorry," she apologizes, rubbing her cheek.

"Don't be," he says, looking up at her appreciatively. "If you can't have a sense of humor about the things that go wrong in life, you might as well give up completely."

"That's a pretty optimistic viewpoint."

"What can I say? I'm a pretty optimistic guy."

"Admirable, if not annoying," she mutters distractedly, fidgeting on her feet. Her heels are killing her.

The man's eyes widen and then he laughs again. "I love your candor," he says, sounding pleased.

"My _what_?" she tears her eyes away from the clock on her phone to eye him suspiciously. _God, I have to get to the thirtieth floor!_ she agonizes, tapping her foot.

"You're just refreshing," he says with a shrug. "Many people tiptoe around me and are unfailingly polite."

She suddenly realizes how she has basically insulted this person twice in a matter of seconds, and shakes her head. "I'm not typically this rude," she says, exhaling. "I'm just, I _really_ have to be somewhere and my nerves are a little shot."

"Hey, I know how it feels to be stuck," he says seriously. She raises an eyebrow and bites her lip, unsure of what to say. He finally breaks, saving her from an awkward struggle for a proper response.

"Your face," he chuckles, raising his knuckles to his lips. "Priceless."

"You're such a jerk," she snaps at him. She throws her head back dramatically and glares at the stark white ceiling of the elevator, her lips twitching as she rolls her eyes back down to look at him.

He shrugs with one shoulder, his eyes crinkling as he smiles up at her. "I've been called worse."

"I believe it," she says, pulling on her braid.

He makes an amused noise. "I thought that you weren't _typically this rude_ ," he quotes her.

She pauses, frowning. "Touché. Blame it on my blood sugar, alright?" she sighs, leaning down and rubbing her calf. "When I don't eat, I get extra cranky. My little sister gets the brunt of my bad mood all the time. She gives me hell about it constantly." _Who cares if she's over sharing with this guy, she'll never see him again._

 _"_ Really?" he asks, actually sounding interested. "Are you close?"

"Yes," she says, distracted again, checking her phone. "She lives with me—"

The elevator suddenly jerks in motion, cutting off her words and causing her to stumble on her wobbly high heels. She falls forward and braces herself on the nearest available surface.

Unfortunately, this surface happens to be the blond man's very muscular thighs.

He grips her arms and steadies her, his face concerned. "I'm okay," she says hastily, pulling herself up. "This is just clearly not my night," she says, blowing aside a piece of hair that had escaped from her tight braid.

He shakes his head slowly. "Don't worry, I didn't mind at all." Their eyes meet for a long moment, the sound of the elevator door opening finally making her tear away from his stare. _He really is sweet. And attractive_ , she thinks, slightly regretful as she backs away. _Oh well. Maybe in another life._

"Well, it was nice meeting you…"

"Peeta," he interjects, a half-smile on his lips. "Peeta Mellark."

"Peeta Mellark," she sounds the name out, the words strangely familiar on her tongue. "It was lovely to meet you. But I've got to go—" she trails off abruptly as she stares down at a text message on her phone. It's from Effie, her supervisor at the agency.

 _Your_ _contract has been terminated, per the client's request. Please see me at 10AM SHARP._

Her heart plummets as she realizes that not only has she lost a very important client, but she may very well be terminated completely. It's happened before; twice this week, actually—and to two girls much prettier than her. The agency is upscale and very, very discreet, used by some of the most powerful and elite men (and women) in the city.

She closes her eyes and presses a shaking hand to her forehead for a moment. She takes a deep, calming breath, but it really does nothing to calm her down.

"Are you getting off?" Peeta asks hesitantly from behind her. She turns to see that he has courteously held his finger to the button that stops the doors from closing.

She shakes her head mutely, stepping back into the elevator. It starts an upward journey a moment later, and they exist in silence as they travel to the top floor.

She's caught up in a mental state of self-flagellation before she realizes that the man— no, _Peeta_ , is speaking to her again.

"What?" she turns slightly to look at him.

"What's your name?" he repeats, wearing an expression that is both bemused and concerned.

"Oh." She shifts on her heels, hesitating. "Katniss," she finally says, her tone slightly defeated.

Normally, she would _neve_ r reveal her real name—not to a client, and definitely not to some random person she just met in an elevator at the Four Seasons. She barely even speaks to men that are not clients, with the exception of her Uncle Haymitch and best friend, Gale. It's easier that way, if men are nothing more than a job to her.

 _But what does that matter now?_ she thinks, closing her eyes _. I'm pretty sure I'm out of a job. And now I'm fucked._

"Are you alright, Katniss?" he asks, the sincerity in the question driving her to unexpected honesty.

"No," she says. "I'm really not. I...missed something. An appointment—" she starts and stops, shaking her head.

The elevator doors ding as they reach the penthouse floor. She realizes that in her stressed state, she never pressed the button that will take her to the lobby of hotel, and scoffs at herself for yet another failure.

She reaches over to the panel that will direct her to the ground floor, but Peeta grabs her hand gently. "Katniss. Wait."

She glances at him, her eyebrows knitted together. "Yes?"

Peeta clears his throat. "That appointment you missed," he says meaningfully. "Perhaps I can fill in for it."

She looks at him in confusion, and then flushes at the steady, knowing look in his eyes. He _knows_.

"Oh—you? And me?" she coughs, flustered at his nod.

"Only If you're open to that," he says quietly, searching her face. "I'd certainly understand if you weren't."

She weighs her options. She desperately needed this appointment tonight; she may very well be fired tomorrow, a bleak possibility. Her rent is due in less than a week, and though the apartment is a cramped, sorry excuse for a home, living in the city is _expensive_. Her little sister just started her first semester at Columbia. On-campus housing was not included in her scholarship package, and it was entirely too expensive for Katniss to swing. If she accepts this man's offer, she could have an under-the-table payment, without any of the fees taken away that the agency normally pockets. It's a risk, yes. But what other choice does she have?

"No, I-I am," she finally says with a stammer, losing all of the professional coolness she has adopted over the past year. "It's just, it doesn't normally work like this."

"We can handle it however you want," he says. He waits patiently as she bites her lip. She nods.

He presses the button to open the elevator doors and moves onto the plush carpet of the hallway that leads to the only set of doors on the penthouse floor. As she follows behind him, she notes that even the wallpaper is different, more opulent than even the lobby walls.

He takes out a key from his pocket -not a key _card_ , but an honest-to-God gold _ke_ y- and unlocks the door to the room. She hesitates at the doorway, and he turns his head slightly, motioning her in with an encouraging smile.

She follows.

* * *

"So, do you live here?" she asks, glancing around the large living area and trying not to look too impressed.

"No," he says, throwing his tuxedo jacket onto the back of a plush leather couch. "I actually only live a few blocks away _—_ you can take your shoes off, by the way." She shoots him a grateful look. He continues, "I had to attend a function located at the hotel, and it was just easier to stay here, rather than travel with my chair."

"Oh, okay," she says, standing in the middle of the room uncomfortably.

"Are you thirsty? Do you want a drink?" he calls out, wheeling towards the kitchen. Not a kitchenette, like in her studio apartment in Morningside Heights, but a full-blown, professional grade kitchen.

"Um, sure," she says, trailing behind him. Her stockinged feet slip slightly on the slick ( _Marble? Is the floor actually marble_?) floor as she approaches him, and she looks up quickly to make sure he didn't notice. From the way his lips quirk, he definitely did. She throws her purse onto the kitchen counter and rolls her eyes at herself. _So professional._

She watches as he nears the refrigerator, and a thought occurs to her. A slightly paranoid thought, maybe, but still. She can't be too careful. "On second thought," she says, her lips turned down slightly. "I'm not really that thirsty." _She's seen the news_. _She watches 48 Hours. Who the hell knows what's in his fancy drinks._

He pauses in his tracks and wheels around. "No?" he asks, obviously confused at her change of heart.

"How do I know you're not a serial killer?" she asks suddenly, half-serious. She's never organized a meeting outside of the agency. In fact, it's strictly forbidden, with all sorts of penalties including but not limited to termination as well as monetary reparations for poaching potential clients.

He smiles and moves toward her, gesturing at her bag on the kitchen counter. "Google me, then."

She fidgets, visibly uncomfortable, and he raises an eyebrow at her hesitation.

"It's just so personal," she frowns. "An invasion of privacy." He looks at her incredulously a moment before throwing his head back with a deep laugh.

"Katniss," he finally says, "I'm planning on invading much more than your privacy tonight." The look he gives her sends a thrill straight down her spine and into her belly. "Look, I'll do it for you, then."

He pulls his phone out and taps a few times before showing her the screen. He shakes it at her when she makes no move to take it, and she finally acquiesces with a huff when it becomes clear that he's not backing down.

She grabs his wrist and pulls the phone into her view, glancing at the headings that were pulled up on the search engine.

_** Peeta Mellark profiles | LinkedIn ** _

_**Philanthropist of the Year Award - AAFP Foundation | Peeta Mellark** _

_**Peeta Mellark, CEO | Mellark Corps** _

"Okay," she finally says, her eyes sliding down the screen.

"Have I set your heart at ease?" he asks.

She pushes the phone away. "I suppose," she says. "You're over qualified for this, though."

"For what?"

"Me," she says bluntly. "You could get much better from the agency. You're platinum level."

He looks at her steadily. "And what are you?"

"Probably a disappointment," she mutters, jumping up to sit on the marble counter top in one smooth motion. She grabs an apple from a basket next to her and rolls it in her palm, staring at it intensely for a moment.

"Katniss," Peeta says, clearing his throat. "I feel like I should confess something to you—in the spirit of full disclosure."

She carefully places the apple back in the basket. "O-kay," she says, her expression guarded.

 _This is where things are going to get weird,_ she thinks, steeling herself. _I fucking know it._

"I'm familiar with your agency."

She blinks.

"Okay…?" Katniss nods slowly.

"There's generally only one that works in association with this hotel," he explains, rubbing his curls and not meeting her eyes. It's the first time that he's looked less than confident in her presence. "I'm not a stranger to that service."

"Oh," she says.

She's not sure why her stomach drops sharply. She can't judge Peeta; that would be the height of hypocrisy, given her profession. And it's certainly not _jealousy_. She barely knows this man. But, still. There's an undeniable voice in her head that balks at the thought of him bedding down with Glimmer or Clove, two girls that work with her. She can't compete with that. She's not sure what he's expecting, but she—

"So, you see, I've had platinum," he interrupts her thoughts, his voice soft. "It…wasn't a good experience."

Her eyebrows knit together. "What do you mean?" she asks, her tone more harsh than she intended. "Was it because of…" her eyes drop down against her will.

"Oh, no," he interrupts her, looking at his legs ruefully. "Everything is in, ah, perfect working order, if that's what you were concerned about." _  
_

"It _isn't—_ ' she stresses, aghast, but he just shakes his head.

"It's fine," he reassures her. "I should probably explain what's going on with that. I'm actually able to walk, but, I'm an amputee." He pauses, as if waiting for a reaction, but she is silent as she waits for him to continue.

"I have a prosthesis that I wear—I'm wearing it now, actually, but I've just been refitted for a new one, and my presence was an unavoidable requirement at a fundraiser tonight. It involved much more standing than is recommended by my physician at the moment."

"Oh, okay," she says, and then curses herself for her lack of response. She just isn't sure how _to_ respond. When he said that his 'platinum' experience hadn't worked out, she assumed it was because one of the girls had been less than delicate about his situation. His leg, or lack thereof, doesn't bother her at all— neither had his wheelchair. Granted, she had wondered how the logistics of sex would work, but she had figured that he knew what he was doing.

She's trying to imagine him standing up from the chair, wondering how tall he is, when he clears his throat. She realizes that her silence must have been unnerving. "None of that is an issue with me," she informs him. "I thought you were going to say that those girls were bitches to you. I was going to report their asses immediately," she adds bluntly.

"My hero," he says, his lips quirking. "But no, nothing like that. They were very accommodating. I suppose you could just say that they didn't quite do it for me."

"Why not?" she asks, slightly mystified. Platinum girls are basically supermodels with no inhibitions or limitations. _Seriously, how am I going to measure up to that?_

He shrugs and wheels back and forth slightly. "Highly trained dolls that moan and giggle on command? They just, they weren't—"

"Real?"

He stops and looks at her. "Yes."

"But, neither am I," she says distantly, her fingers creeping back towards the basket of apples.

He tries to hide his smile. "Sure," he agrees, watching her fingers trail.

"So, what _does_ do it for you then?" she asks, distracted.

"Katniss," he says, his voice entirely too gentle for her liking, "Are you hungry?"

She drops the apple. "No," she scowls, snatching her fingers away.

"In the elevator, you said that you hadn't eaten," he reminds her, already wheeling away towards the refrigerator.

"I'm _fine,"_ she protests, watching him as he struggles with the large stainless steel door. She briefly considers whether she should help him or not _,_ whether that would be inappropriate or presumptuous, but he has it under control within seconds.

"Look, I have ulterior motives," his voice is muffled as he leans into the cavernous fridge, pulling out containers methodically. "I need you to keep your strength up." This he says with a slightly wolfish smile, turning around to wink at her. She rolls her eyes and tries not to smile.

He wheels back around and approaches the island in the center of the kitchen, placing his lap full of items onto it, and she notices for the first time that half of the island is lower than the other. _Modified just for him?_ she wonders to herself. _Expensive._

She watches as he unfolds a piece of cloth and removes a wedge of cheese, placing it on a heavy cutting board. "You're seriously going to cook for me?" she asks, uncomfortable. This was so...intimate. "Why don't you just order room service?"

"My, aren't we high maintenance?" he teases, pulling a loaf of golden bread from a large wooden box sitting in the middle of the island.

She sputters and he shakes his head. "I like to cook," he says simply, smiling down at the bread as he slices a few thick pieces with a large knife that he grabbed from an even larger butcher block to his left. "I just never really have the opportunity these days."

She eyes the knife as he moves onto slicing the wedge of cheese into professional, perfect pieces.

"Have you ever seen _American Psycho_?" she asks suddenly. He looks up, confused by the reference.

"No, actually, I haven't."

She scoffs, her eyes widening. "How is that even possible? And is it uncomfortable living under a rock?"

"I'm kind of, well, very behind on movies," he admits, spreading butter onto both sides of the bread slices. "Ever since my father retired suddenly quite a few years back, my life took a decidedly different turn."

She nods slowly. "How old are you?"

"Thirty," he says, matter-of-fact. Her eyes widen. She wasn't sure how old he was, but he looked like he could have been one of the frat boys that had gone to her college. "Is that a problem?" he asks quietly.

"No, of course not," she rushes to reassure him.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two," she says.

"Do you mind if I ask how you got into this profession?"

"Yes."

He raises an eyebrow at her and nods. "Fair enough," he says, and she swears he sounds disappointed. "Do you like mushrooms?" he asks suddenly, and she squints in confusion at the change of subject.

"Oh, um, yes. Who doesn't like mushrooms?" she replies, wrinkling her nose.

"You'd be surprised," he laughs, scooping a generous handful of black, misshapen puffs from a gold box. "What about tomatoes?"

"Yes. Look, I've never met a vegetable that I didn't like," she informs him, licking her lips as he slices a perfectly ripened tomato into thick rounds.

"Good to know," he says, amused. "Are you a vegetarian?"

"God, no," she shakes her head in mock horror. "Give me a juicy steak, or better yet, venison stew any day of the week."

"I've actually never had venison," he says with interest, looking up at her.

"You're missing out," she states seriously. "I would do depraved acts for a fresh piece of deer meat. It's delicious, and great for the ecosystem. Far too many deer roaming the woods."

He smiles. "You have strong opinions on this subject."

"I grew up on deer meat," she says, shrugging. "In the country."

"Oh, is your dad a hunter?" he asks, carefully layering cheese and vegetables onto the bread slices. She decides that she likes watching his strong hands do such delicate work.

"No, well. He was," she says, a shadow crossing her face. "But mostly it was me."

"You?" He almost drops the sandwich as he moves towards the toaster oven. "But you're so small."

She scowls slightly and rolls her eyes. "I wasn't choking them out with my bare hands, city boy," she informs him dryly. "I have my bow."

He stares at her for a long moment after he places her sandwich in the oven. "You are something else," he says, shaking his head.

"Is that good or bad?" she asks, cocking her head.

He retrieves her sandwich, placing it on a plate. He opens the refrigerator and takes out a bottle of sparkling water before wheeling the items over to her.

"Very good," he finally says, placing the items on the counter next to her.

She's quiet for a moment. "Thanks," she finally says, looking down at the food. She can't remember the last time someone has been so thoughtful towards her, and it makes her uncomfortable for reasons she can't quite pinpoint. "You really don't have to be this nice. I'm already bought and paid for," she adds, picking up the sandwich and biting into it savagely.

"Actually, you're not," he says mildly. "We haven't even discussed payment yet."

"Oh- _oh!"_ she says, shifting on the counter. "That's right."

"What's your usual fee?" Peeta looks up at her expectantly.

"Well, uh. It depends, I guess? On whether or not I'm attending an actual event, and how long I'm there..." she trails off awkwardly. She has no idea how to proceed. This is a first.

"Why don't you just write down how much you think you would have gotten for the appointment you missed tonight?" he suggests helpfully. Katniss looks at him and realizes that he probably knew she was an escort from the first moment that he met her. She's not sure how she feels about that, though she supposes that it was probably obvious to someone who has used the agency before. "We'll calculate from there," he continues.

Katniss chews on her lip and nods, looking around for a pen or pencil, and he pulls out a sturdy, gold Montblanc fountain pen from his pocket and hands it to her. She scowls at the writing instrument for a moment before scribbling down a number on a napkin she finds to her right.

She slides it toward him and ducks her head, taking a bite from her sandwich. She watches him from underneath her lashes as he looks down and then back up at her.

"Really?" Peeta asks, one eyebrow raised.

She fights back a blush and nods hesitantly. "I could be wrong? That's just what I think it might have been...based on past appointments," she struggles for the words, flustered as he gestures for his pen back. She hands it to him wordlessly.

She eats and tries not to feel stupidly inadequate as he writes something down and passes the napkin back to her.

She looks down, up and down again before speaking. "Are you fucking crazy?" she blurts out flatly, placing her food back down on the plate.

"No," Peeta says, matter-of-fact. He reaches up to the counter and picks up her sandwich. "Just very, very wealthy."

He takes a deliberate bite, and there's something oddly erotic about watching his perfect teeth sink into the space in the bread that was left by her own mouth. She watches him chew, suddenly breathless, and their eyes are locked as his strong jaw works before swallowing.

"Oh, are you-are you hungry?" she asks as he puts the food back on the plate. "I didn't even offer..." she trails off at the expression on his face. She stares down at him as he wheels forward slightly and pulls her foot into his lap, trying not to moan as he massages the arch gently but firmly.

"Katniss," he says, his eyes dark. "I'm _starved._ "


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thank you to my beta nonemoreblack.

"Katniss," he says, his eyes dark. "I'm  _starved._ "

Her mouth parts as he wheels forward and lightly palms her smooth thigh. He looks up at her as if to ask permission, and she nods. He slides his hands down to cup the back of her legs and tugs, a thrill running down her spine at his touch.

"Scoot to the edge of the counter," he says, kissing her stocking-covered kneecap. She quickly obeys, her legs splayed out.

"Now," Peeta says, his voice thick. "Lean back on your elbows."

She does as he asks despite the awkwardness of it, but the heated way he looks at her erases the uncomfortable feeling of being perched at what she feels is such an unattractive angle. "Lift your hips a little," he says, his lips now on her thigh.

Down go her black lace panties. She watches as they disappear into his pants pocket, her eyes flitting from his hand to the blond head settling between her legs. His cheek brushes her inner thigh, the slightest hint of stubble caressing her sensitive skin. She pants lightly, her fingers rubbing nervously on the cool marble of the counter.

It's when she feels his warm breath on her center that she freezes.

"Wait, wait," she pushes his head back a moment, stalling for time. "Full disclosure."

He raises an eyebrow at her and leans his chin against her thigh, his cheeks flushed with desire.  _Had she done that to him? Did he want to lick her out that badly?_ The idea seemed unfathomable, that this attractive, wildly successful and experienced man would be getting off to  _her_  pleasure.

"Um, um," Katniss starts, embarrassed. "If you're going to do  _that_ , you need to know..." She starts and stops again, distracted by his little pants of breath against her thigh. "I'm clean," she finally blurts out. "We have to be at the agency, but I mean, we didn't talk about that even though you said you are familiar with this and I just didn't know..."

"I was aware, but good to know," Peeta interrupts softly, pressing a kiss to the crease of her leg, dangerously close territory to the most intimate part of her- the part he is at eye level with right now, and somewhere  _no_  one else had ever looked at with such an appraising and admiring stare.  _Or,_ her eyes zero in on the the tip of his tongue peeking out between his perfect teeth,  _used a particular organ._

He hooks his arms behind her thighs and suddenly he is  _there_ , parting her folds with thick, nimble fingers.

She releases a shaky breath as he gives a slow, languid lick to her center. She clutches at the smooth marble as he laps at her, tortuously slow but thorough, the tip of his tongue rigid as he circles around her clit but never quite making contact with the already throbbing button.

Katniss whimpers as he nips at the nub, and when he hums against her center a moment later, one of her hands move from the counter and clutches at the back of his head. She moans as he starts to eat her out with frantic but deliberate strokes of his tongue, short but intense licks inter-mixed with a hard suck on her clit sends shockwave after shockwave straight to her core. She bears her weight down on her elbows and knows she'll be bruised from the unforgiving marble, but she doesn't care—doesn't care about anything as long as he keeps doing  _that_ , oh my  _god_.

Katniss looks down and meets his eyes as he stares up at her beneath his eyelashes, his cheeks hollow as sucks on her clit, and she just can't stand it anymore. "Peeta,  _please_ ," she pants, writhing against the cool, slick marble, "oh, oh,  _oh."_

He hooks her legs over one of his shoulders and works two fingers inside of her, the come-hither motions working in tandem, with the whirlwind of his tongue against her most sensitive of flesh, and she comes so hard, so fast, that she almost slides right off the counter.

"Oh my god!" Katniss shrieks, tugging at his hair as he continues to lap at her pussy. She's past the point of sensitivity and shooting into painful territory, but he continues mercilessly, intent to drive her to the brink of insanity with pleasure.

He hums in satisfaction against her heated her flesh, and she shatters and melts onto his tongue again when he uses the his teeth on the swollen kernel that makes her scream, literally  _scream_  her enjoyment into the kitchen ceiling.

He finally pulls back to grin up at her, his lips glistening with victory.

"Oh my fuck," she pants out, her head falling back as she collapses bonelessly- a stupid move, because the edge of the black walnut cabinet behind her cushions the blow with a loud, unforgiving crack.

" **Ow** ," she says with a wince, clutching at her head and blinking up at him. If her head didn't hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, she would be more appreciative of the fact that Peeta is suddenly  _standing_  in front of her, a strangely broad and looming presence, overwhelming in its newness.

"You're standing," she says dumbly.

"Prosthetic leg," Peeta reminds her, a look of concern on his face as he runs his hands over head carefully.

"I'm going to undo your braid, alright?" he informs more than asks her, his fingers already gently pulling off the hair tie that binds the strands together, his nimble fingers working the braid apart. He cards his fingers through her hair a moment, his eyes slightly glazed as he gently rakes his way through the thick black strands.

She glances down with slightly watery eyes, and can't help but notice the large tented bulge in his tailored slacks.

"Oh, um," she says, reaching forward and trailing her hand across his hard-on. "I should have taken care of you first."

"Katniss, you practically just gave yourself a concussion— well, I guess I'm slightly to blame," he adds with a disbelieving quirk of his lips, shaking his head and eying her like she is crazy when she reaches for him again, "but just hold still and let me take care of you for a moment."

"I'm fine," she waves him off and hastily tugs her dress down, appalled that she had been sprawled out so obscenely. She moves to jump down from the counter, sliding between Peeta and the granite. She meant for it to be a seductive motion, but he steps back slightly to accommodate her and to her utter horror, trips slightly on his obviously unstable prosthetic leg before tumbling backward to land flat on his ass.

He stares up at her, and she loses it. She loses her shit  _completely—_ tears-streaming, full-body laughter.

"Oh, thanks," he says, sitting up on his elbows.

"I, just-" Katniss gasps out the words, bending slightly at the waist. "Oh, God. You just looked so funny. It was this slow collapse, like you tried so hard to fight it." She chokes on the last word, a fresh wave of laughter peeling out into the kitchen.

"Can you help me up at least?" Peeta grumbles, his lips twitching despite the grumpy words.

"Oh, um, of course," she finally says, hastily reaching down with both hands to drag him up. The force of her movement combined with gravity sends her stockinged feet forward and her body backwards, and she slips forward and down, her legs landing in a 'v' around his body. He stares at her as she dissolves again.

"I can't deal with this," she says with difficulty, her palm slapping against the cold tile beneath her palm. "We are total idiots." She sits up and crawls forward slightly before collapsing on her side and rolling on her back, little noises of mirth still squeaking from her throat.

"Your concern is astounding," Peeta replies with a shake of his head, but he's laughing with her now. He lies back and settles next to her with a sigh.

"I'm sorry," she says, her chuckles quieting down to a few random bursts. She turns her head slightly to look at him. "You mad that I laughed at you?"

He smiles and shrugs one shoulder, the fine material of his shirt sliding easily across the floor. "I just had more fun with you in an hour than I've had in years," he says, looking skyward with his admission.

"Wow. Your life is sad," she cracks, surprising herself with her own joke. She shakes her head and stares up at the ornately pressed tin ceiling tiles.  _Pretty_ , she thinks, her eyes tracing the flowered loops and swirls etched into the squares. "I'm not exactly known in my circle as the fun one," she says, counting the tiles.

"Really?" he asks in surprise. She can feel him looking at her. "You're fun to me."

" _Ha,_ " she replies. "Even my sister would die if she heard you say that. If you knew how sweet of a person Prim is, you'd understand why that's so funny. She's forever trying to get me to do new things, or to 'lighten up.' She was shocked when I allowed her to paint the living room blue."

"You really love your sister," he says, the change of subject abrupt. "Your voice changes completely when you talk about her."

"Doesn't everyone love their siblings?"

"I suppose. Yes. But if you ask my older brothers about me, they wouldn't sound like that. Especially my oldest one."

"Like what?" she laughs lightly, startled at the sudden personal turn the conversation was taking. She loses track of the tiles above her. "I said she'd be stunned if you told her how I'm the life of the party. How exactly does that translate into a sibling of the year award?"

"You're not good at taking compliments, are you?"

"No," she says. "I'm not good at that  _or_ being the fun one. Take note."

"I don't know." His tone makes her turn her head again, and this time he's staring at her, their noses barely grazing. "You're doing okay to me."

They look at each other a long moment before she clears her throat and sits up in a swift movement.

"It's hard to believe that just a few minutes ago you gave me the best orgasms of my life," she says, trying to turn the tide back to why she is there. She fights back a blush as she almost trips over the word "orgasms."  _He just ate me out and I can't even pull off being flirty._

He sits up too, scooting to sit next to her, their backs pressed against the side of the island. "Really?" he asks in surprise. "I was the best?"

"Yeah, but you really don't have much comp-" She stops, a nervous laugh passing her lips. "Your competition has been lacking," she finishes lamely, suddenly anxious at his unreadable expression.

"Am I out of bounds if I ask you how many?" Peeta asks, and she looks away. "I understand if you don't want to answer that," he adds, his eyes cautious.

"How many?" Katniss repeats to herself. "Um. Like, how many people I've had actual intercourse with?" She peeks at Peeta just in time to see his eyes widen and mouth drop open. She draws back slightly and looks behind her shoulder reflexively, scowling when she turns back to look at him.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she demands.

"Intercourse?" Peeta all but sputters, pointing at her. "Did you really just say intercourse?"

"What?" she asks, panicked. "What's wrong with that?" She tugs on her braid.  _Did I fuck up? What did I say?_

"You said  _intercourse_. Who says that? Katniss," he hesitates, looking at her intently before continuing. "Katniss, are you a virgin?"

"What? No!" she exclaims, reaching over and giving him a hard flick to the thigh.

" _Ow._  Really? Did you just flick me?" he asks, his eyebrows gathering together in disbelief.

"You called me a virgin!"

"You said intercourse. And that I didn't have any competition. Forgive me, but this sounds suspiciously like virgin territory."

"I said _much_ competition, Detective Mellark. I said they were lacking!" she bites out, moving to scoot away from him. "Do you really think I'm a virgin call girl? This isn't some cheesy romantic comedy, and if that's what you're expecting, I'm out of here so fast-" His arm darts out and wraps around her waist, gathering her to him.

"Now, look," he says, his voice soothing. "I don't care if you've slept with none or ninety-one men." A strange look passes his face.

"I haven't slept with ninety-one men," she deadpans, glaring up at him underneath her eyelashes.

"So it's none, then?" He laughs at her irritable look. "Okay, okay," he says, chuckling into the top of her head. "I'm sorry," he apologizes, squeezing her when she remains stiff in his side embrace. "I  _am_. I was just caught off-guard. You're a puzzle wrapped in an enigma, Katniss."

Katniss ignores his last comment. "So, what? You wouldn't want to fuck me anymore if I was a virgin?" she asks, frowning.

The look he sends down at her almost knocks the breath from her lungs. "Oh, I'm fucking you," he assures her in low tones, his voice dropping an octave, smooth like crème brûlée. "But if by some bizarre twist of fate you were that inexperienced, then I would, ah...adjust...said fucking accordingly."

"In other words, you'd take it easy on me."

"Yes."

She levels him with a look. "Don't do me any favors, Mellark."

"Noted," he says, leaning down to place an open-mouthed kiss on her neck. She shivers at the sudden intimacy. "Can I make a request, though?"

"Mmhmm," she all but moans, twisting into his touch.

"Can I not-take-it-easy-on-you in an actual bed?" he mumbles into her skin. "My leg is killing me."

She's instantly contrite, her face etched with concern. "Of course," she says, her hand finding his thigh in an involuntary show of reassurance. His lifts his head and looks at her, and she makes a move to pull her hand back. It's such an intimate gesture, unsolicited, and he grasps her hand before she can retreat completely.

"I'm okay," he says, squeezing her fingers. "Believe me, I think I might be in better shape than you," he adds teasingly, the twinkle in his eye taking the sting out of his words.

"Are you calling me fat?" she asks, trying to distract him from the way he's eyeing her head as if she's going to pass out at any moment.

"The chubbiest," he agrees, his face serious as he trails his other hand down her taut stomach.

"Uh huh." She wrinkles her nose before popping up to stand in front of him. She raises her eyebrows in surprise when he reaches into his pocket and hands over her panties. Trying not to blush, she quickly shimmies into them. It's not like he hasn't seen everything _._ "Up you go, and try not to topple over this time." She extends a hand, and a moment later he's in front of her.

Her mouth parts slightly as he leans in and captures her mouth with his, his hand sliding up the back of her head and drawing her closer to him as their lips slant together and apart, little nips and gasps exchanged between fluttery kisses. She can taste herself on his lips, and instead of being disgusting, it's a surprisingly heady flavor.

"You're cute," he says as he pulls back, staring into her eyes. Something like confusion and wonder passes his face. "You're just...so goddamn adorable."

Her eyebrows raise as the words pass his lips. "You've got a filthy mouth, sir."

"Really?" he murmurs, grabbing her hips and slowly backing her towards the living room. "I thought you rather liked my mouth." She stops them with the balls of their feet when she notices the wince cross his face with his every halting step.

"Peeta," she starts, biting her lip. "Why don't we get the chair."

"I'm fine," he says, his mouth setting into a line.

"Don't be stubborn," she replies, her hand sliding up his back to cup his shoulder blades. She squeezes lightly before lightly stroking his back.

"It's not that far to the room."

"Far enough." She meets his eyes calmly. "I'm assuming you haven't been using that wheelchair all night for fun."

His hands tighten around her hips. "Katniss, I said-"

"Please," she says, lying her head on his shoulder.

He breathes out sharply, almost a huff, and she realizes that she has been treating Peeta like a normal person, just a man, or a  _guy_ , when in fact he's a thirty-year-old millionaire who is used to getting what he wants. She flinches, because she's really so bad at this. He's her client, and she was taught that clients get what they want, no questions asked. And here she is, arguing about his disability, and forcing him to-

"Fine," Peeta says, rubbing his cheek against her hair.

She blinks in surprise, her eyelashes batting against his shirt. "Yeah?" she says quietly, looking up at him.

He nods slightly, and she backtracks into the kitchen to grasp the sleek chair and push it toward him. When she rolls the wheelchair next to him, he places a hand over hers, the one grasping the arm of the chair. He murmurs a thank you and sits down, and though he tries to hide it, she sees a flash of relief cross his handsome face. Suddenly she's thankful that she pushed the issue. She smiles to herself as she steps behind him, one hand reaching to wheel him towards the room when he reaches back to touch her hand again.

"I've got it, thank you," he says, not unkindly. She flushes, embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry," she blurts out, her head in her hands as he wheels around to look up at her.

"You're fine," he says, laughing a little. "Make it up to me in the bedroom," he adds, his voice teasing but his eyes dark and steady.

Katniss lifts her head slowly and meets his heated stare, stunned at how quickly the atmosphere can change between them. Playful and teasing one moment, serious and deep the next, and then suddenly he's looking at her like he can't wait to fuck the life out of her.  _So this is what chemistry is_ , she thinks.

She licks her lips and nods, and reaching out to brush his blond waves back from his forehead. His eyes track the movement and flutter shut when she makes contact with the skin.

She pulls away and walks past him, pulling her dress over her head as she steps into the living room and down the hallway, letting the material fall to the floor as she approaches the large gilt-edged double doors at the end of the strip of marbled floor that she prays actually leads to the master bedroom. She turns her head to throw a glance at him over shoulder, gratified to see his slightly slackened jaw and burning eyes that he rakes over her lingerie-clad form. He pushes his way down the hall and she opens the doors, pushing them apart dramatically, satisfied when they swing out wide enough for what she perceived is the width for the wheelchair to make it through. Her eyes immediately seek out the obscenely large bed, big enough for an orgy, let alone herself and Peeta.

She turns around, opening her mouth to make a joke, and squeaks when she finds Peeta already up and limping in front of her, his arms wrapping around her and running up her smooth back before she can get push out words from her lips.

He attacks her neck with his lips, heated open-mouthed kisses marking a trail down the column of her slim neck, his fingers expertly flicking open her black strapless bra, leaving her in only the scrap of black lace panties, a garter belt and silk hose.

She moans in surprise when his lips close around one of her rapidly stiffening nipples, sucking and flicking the taut bud as he roughly cups her ass.

" _Oooh_ ," she murmurs, her eyes popping open as he bites down sharply, her mouth forming a shocked ring as she finds herself suddenly flat out on her back, her leg bent and her toes barely touching the hard wood floor. At some point during their make-out session, Peeta had backed her up completely flush to the bed and she hadn't even noticed, the exquisite torture to her breast so distracting that he could have danced her straight off the Brooklyn Bridge and she wouldn't even have registered the fall.

"Am I too heavy?" he asks, his voice rough with desire as he straddles her, his forearms resting on either side of her face as he thrusts against her in a lazy but insistent rhythm. "You're so small."

Her legs contort and stretch, the tops of her toes lightly scraping the floor when he reaches down between their bodies to trace an outline around her clit, the lace of her panties catching on the hood. The friction, scratchy and delicious, causes a sudden and immediate shock to her senses.

"N-no," she stutters out, her back arching when he rubs his finger against her in earnest, his mouth latching onto her breast again. "Oh, god," she whimpers, bucking up against him and earning a wet chuckle against her nipple.

"You're so responsive," he says lowly after releasing her nipple with a soft pop.

He nuzzles the valley between her breasts and nips lightly at her collarbone before surging forward to kiss her, his tongue lapping at the seam of lips until she dazedly parts them. He flicks and sucks on her tongue, and her eyes roll back in her head when he pushes aside her panties and slips two thick fingers down her increasingly wet slit and into her pussy. "Is this okay?" he asks, looking up at her beneath his impossibly long eyelashes.

She stares down at him, her chin tucked down and her eyes glazed. She feels the cool hardness of what must be the synthetic material of his prosthesis bearing down slightly against her left thigh. "Yes," she chokes out. "Wait- no."

He makes a confused face and pulls back, and she arches her back as his fingers slide out of her. "No?"

"No." She scoots up and pushes him onto his back. "This is about you," Katniss says breathlessly, straddling him.

He's silent as she carefully unbuttons his shirt, his toned stomach hollowing as she places a kiss on his belly button. He shrugs out of it and hisses lightly when her mouth closes around his nipple. She worries her teeth around it, enjoying how his hips buck into hers. She can feel his erection, rock hard between her legs, even through the thick, expensive material of his pants. She pulls back and smiles, sitting upright.

"Am I too heavy?" she asks innocently, repeating his words from earlier. But what she's really asking,  _Am I hurting you?_  She's acutely aware of his prosthesis, and unsure if she's putting too much pressure on it or making him uncomfortable.

"No," he laughs, the noise slightly strained.

She runs her nails down his chest, his stomach and then stops to play with his belt, slowly unbuckling it, never breaking eye contact as she slides it free from the loops. Her fingers deftly unzip his dress slacks, and she tugs on his hips to get him to lift upward so she can slide them down his hips. "Katniss, wait."

She stops and looks at him, cocking her head. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, just-" He coughs and sits up, running a hand through his hair. "You're just about to actually see my-" He stops and gestures toward his leg. "Well. It can be jarring for some," he says plainly.

_Oh._

"I don't need you to prepare me, Peeta," she says, her voice gentle as she carefully but insistently returns to the removal of his pants. He sighs a little and lifts his hips, allowing her to pull down his slacks. It takes a moment to work them off, and she's extra aware of the synthetic material of his prosthetic leg as she moves the material. She knows it's not going to catch and pull it  _off_ or anything like that _,_  but still.

She hesitates before presuming to slip his dress socks off his feet. She's down there anyway, and there's always something hilarious about the idea of doing it while someone is wearing socks. She pauses for a moment, her eyes taking in one very masculine foot, the other obviously expensive but still very false.

She follows her line of sight up the mechanism which ends at his kneecap, held in place with a gel liner that folds snugly up his toned thigh. She meets his eyes, finds him watching her face intently.

"Can I…?" She reaches hesitantly for the liner. "Won't it be more comfortable off?"

"Yes," he admits. "But I don't mind keeping it on."

That's all she needs to hear. She unrolls the liner carefully, sliding it down and leaning over to place it on the floor next to the bed. She sits back up on her knees and looks up at him, one hand trailing high on his good leg, squeezing his thigh perilously close to his groin. "How do I- you know-"

"There's a pin you press toward the bottom," he says, groaning slightly when her fingers trail over his briefs, his cock at half-mast beneath the pricey material.

It's surprisingly easy to remove the prosthetic once she locates the unlocking mechanism, and she places it on the floor with a nod of acquiescence from Peeta. "You don't have to be so careful with it," he says dryly, pulling her by the hand so that she crawls up his body and settles against his chest. She feels weirdly comfortable draped across him, her cheek resting on his bare skin, her legs sprawled so that her knees frog out on either side of his hips. "It's reached its end. I'm having another one made right now. It's all quite a hassle, to be honest. I've been considering going the more permanent route, where it actually attaches to bone."

He looks down at her face. "Too much?" he asks. "Damn, that was a decidedly unsexy statement to make."

"No, it's just...really?" she asks in surprise, lifting her head and resting her chin against his sternum. "More permanent?"

"Yes," Peeta replies, his fingers drifting lazily over her back as if to tell her that he isn't in a hurry. They dance up her spine, and she revels in the touch. "Why so surprised?"

"I don't know. I mean, it seems so final. Doesn't it feel good to just let it all, um, hang loose once for awhile?"

He laughs. "I don't know. I guess I'm not really all that used to it, even though it's been almost a decade."

"You weren't born without a leg?" she asks with interest.

"No, ah. I was in a car accident when I was twenty-one." He squints a little, his hand coming up to pet at her hair. "Drunk driving accident," he amends.

"I hate those," she scowls.

"My friend was driving," he says, his voice tinged with contrition. "I was the passenger."

"Oh."

"Yes, my deepest regret. We were spoiled little assholes when we were younger and I'm reminded of it every day. Luckily no one was hurt but me."

"I'm sorry," she says.

"Me too. I was very active. Very much into sports," he says. "I still am, just in a different way. Everything is different now."

"I guess the money helps," Katniss says, and then worries it's a little too flippant of a comment. She just wants to keep it light, because she can almost see him slipping into a dark place.

"I suppose. In ways," he allows, his eyes distant. "You'd be surprised, though, with what money doesn't buy."

"Well. It buys you things like fancy new legs," she says lightly, and she considers it a personal victory when he laughs, his eyes snapping back into focus. "I'd be walking around with a mop handle for a limb if it was me."

"Katniss," he chuckles out her name, shaking his head. She's pleased to see him more cheerful, and is amazed at the fact that he actually finds her to be funny.

"Also, money bought you  _me_ ," she says, her voice turning low and seductive. She pushes up onto her hands, placing a slow kiss to his lips before crawling backwards down his body, and she hopes she doesn't look stupid while doing it. From the way his eyes darken and his half-mast is growing steadily harder, she thinks she's succeeding. "So there's that."

"Maybe this would have happened anyway," he counters. "Somehow."

"Maybe," she says absently, tugging on his briefs. "Lift up."

"Bossy," he says, lifting his hips obediently.

It's only when she's sliding his briefs down his good leg that she really allows herself to look at what remains of his right.  _Honestly, it's not that big of a deal_ , she thinks. The worst of it is that his thigh tapers off into puckered skin, which looks raw and almost a little inflamed, most likely from bearing down on his worn out prosthesis. She frowns and struggles with guilty feelings, thinking of how he had stood up so hastily after her bout of clumsiness. How he had fallen.

"Gruesome, isn't it?" he says ruefully.

"What?" Katniss snaps to attention to see that he's watching her face. She touches her lips and the frown that hangs there, realization dawning. "Oh, no. I was actually feeling like shit that I made you hurt," she says, touching his leg lightly.

To prove her point, she leans down and kisses the ruined skin above where his knee had formerly been located, very gently. She lifts her eyes and meets his, noting with satisfaction that his chest is moving rapidly, his eyes blue with anticipation. They are soft with something else as well, but she has never been very good at reading people.

She moves north, her lips kissing and nipping their way up his thigh until she reaches his erection. It's impressive, maybe even a little intimidating now that her lips have done the trick and his cock is reaching tall and proud to bob against his taut stomach.

He watches her as she licks the palm of her hand and grasps his erection, giving him an experimental stroke and watching with fascination as he grows harder beneath her palm. "Is this okay?" she asks, one hand rubbing his inner thigh lightly.

Peeta laughs raggedly, his hips bucking into her fist. "It's definitely okay," he assures her.

"Can I suck it?" she asks lowly, bowing her head and flicking the tip with her tongue, her eyes finding his. He groans as she fits her mouth around the head of his dick and suckles tentatively, her hand stroking the base.

"Yes _,_ " he says in a strangled voice. "Yes,  _please._ "

She hesitates only a moment before dipping her head to engulf him fully, bobbing up and down and running her tongue on the underside of his cock. Her eyes water slightly as she takes him in too deep, and she sputters slightly as she pulls back to release him from her mouth.

_Fuck. Fuck._  It seemed so easy.

She lowers her head and tries again, growing increasingly flustered as she gags. Her tongue feels awkward in her mouth, and her spit is thick in her mouth and  _jesus she's drooling on a millionaire's penis_. She hears a sharp hiss, an intake of pain as she realizes she's used her teeth.

"Hey," Peeta says, his voice a little strained as he touches her shoulder lightly. "Katniss, just- stop a second."

She pulls back and releases him again with a pop, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her face is burning, and she thinks she might even be sweating with embarrassment. She can't even look him in the eye as she sits back and rests on her ankles. She covers her face with her hands. "I'm so sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about. I'm- _Katniss_. Look at me," he commands in what she imagines is his "board room" voice. She feels the bed shift as he pulls her hands away from her face. "Have you ever done that before?"

She opens her mouth and closes it.

"Please be honest with me," he asks, still holding one of her hands. "Full disclosure, remember?"

She bites her lip. "No," she replies, defeated. "But I thought it would be really easy. God, I'm so stupid."

"Stop. You're not stupid," Peeta says firmly. "I am surprised, though. I thought you said…" He stops, clearly searching for the right words to say.

"I'm not a virgin," she says, filling in the blanks. She pulls her hand away from his hand and runs it through her dark hair in agitation, oblivious to the way his eyes follow the motion longingly. "I wasn't lying about that, but...I'm not- I'm not as experienced as the other girls."

"Define 'not as experienced'."

She meets his eyes. "I'm not very experienced at all," she finally admits. "That's why I'm not platinum. I'm just an Events Escort."

"What's that, exactly?"

"I thought you were  _very_  familiar with my agency."

"I said 'familiar,' but touché," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "All right. I've only used the agency once."

Her mouth drops. "But you said-"

"I guess that makes us both liars."

"I guess so," she says, looking away. She doesn't know what to think after this revelation.

"It's not that I care about your lack of experience. I meant it when I said that earlier," he says. "But I also feel like I'm taking advantage of you and your...situation," he says evenly, his blue eyes serious.

"How? How is it any different now than before?"

"Because this isn't really your job. You weren't at all expecting to have sex with someone tonight. The only reason you said yes to me in that elevator is because you felt like you had to."

She nods slowly, not refuting his words, though a part of her recalls what ran through her mind briefly before she stepped out of the elevator to meet her client:  _Maybe in another life_. "So what does this mean for...us?" The word is clumsy on her tongue.  _Us_. So intimate. To imply there is a "we."

She swallows as he regards her for a moment. She rubs her hands on the tops of her thighs and waits.

"Is this something you actually want to do?" he asks finally.

She frowns at him. "I'm practically naked on your bed. Your dick was in my mouth. Your tongue was inside of me. We're halfway there, Peeta."

"Yes, but I don't want-"

"Yes. It is something I want to do," she interrupts, her voice firm. "I do really need the money," she adds honestly. "That hasn't changed. You- you weren't wrong about that. I really think I'm going to be fired tomorrow. But it's not like sleeping with you will be a burden."

He gives her a skeptical look, and she curses her inability to say the right thing at the right time.  _Not a burden_. That's the best she could do?

"I can just loan you the money," he says. And it's so genuine— so  _generous_ that it's like a blow to her stomach. It's like they're friends, or really lovers, and she's not a bought-and-paid for call girl that he picked up in an elevator.

She stares at him, crossing her arms over her naked chest. "What?"

"Really, it's nothing," he insists. "You can pay me back as you're able to."

She thinks about all the zeros he had written on the napkin earlier, and how it's nothing to him, and it makes her sick. She has nothing, people like him have everything, and she's just a number he can hand out without any thought at all.

No. She's going to earn her money. A deal is a deal.

"No way," she says, her pride hissing and popping inside of her like a rebellious little fire. "You don't know me, or owe me anything. You don't get to pity me because I gave you a bad blowjob."

"I don't pity you," he protests, his eyes widening at her sudden ire.

"It sure seems like it."

"I already owe you something for tonight, anyway," he reasons. She finds his stoicism infuriating. Nude and completely vulnerable, but completely in control of his emotions. "Like you said, we were halfway there."

"But you didn't get off. That's the point of this whole night."

He shakes his head. "Not for me. If I just wanted to come, I'd jack myself off right now."

"Then what are we even doing? Why are we even still talking about this?" she cries, finally cracking. "Just fuck me and get it over with."

"That's not how I work at all." He runs a hand down his face. "What would you do exactly if I said I didn't want to do this anymore? You'd really just leave and refuse to take what I offer you?"

"Then I'd say you're an asshole, because you said my experience doesn't matter," she says. "Then I'll just find someone else."

His nose flares at this, patrician and outraged, the only sign that he's affected by her words. "You do realize that I don't know you well enough for that sort of emotional blackmail to work."

"Exactly," she says, her voice flat. "You don't know me, I don't know you, so why would you think you owe me anything or loan me money? Why do you even care at all?"

"I don't know, Katniss." His blue eyes flash and a frown mars his lips. She feels a tinge of satisfaction as she realizes that she's finally getting to him. "I guess I just don't meet very many people who intrigue me. Make me laugh. Treat me like I'm normal."

She meets his eyes and finds she can't look away. What is this guy's hold on her? They haven't even known each other 24 hours.

"Maybe I just wanted us to take a shot at being...friends. Outside of this scenario," he's saying, and the spell is broken.

Friends. She doesn't need  _friends_. Friends let you down. Friends steal money from your wallet. Borrow your car. Wreck the car. Drive you to exhaustion with impossible expectations.

She steels herself and pulls her anger back on like an old familiar coat that's long been better suited for the trash but you can't seem to bear to be apart from it anyway. "Well you shouldn't, because this is  _just_ business," she says, defensive and flat-voiced. "We're not friends."

She watches as his face falls and cools. He rubs his chin, and looks away for a moment. When he turns his gaze back to her, it's with hardened eyes.

"Just business?"

She nods.

"That's really what you want?"

"Yes," she says. Stubborn, prideful, hateful. "That's what I want."

He laughs, but it's a little more humorless than what she's heard from him before. "Okay, Katniss. Tell me. Have you ever been with a client before? Sexually?"

"I've given a hand job," she says, laying it all on the table. She neglects to mention how it was the most awkward experience of her life, and how she had begged Effie to give her the Events Escort job.

"That's it?"

She chews on the inside of cheek and skirts her eyes away from his "I had sex with my high school boyfriend."

"Often?" he prods her, his voice oddly detached. Like a business man. A very attractive, naked one. She's suddenly acutely aware of the absurdity of her life.

"Twice," she says stiffly.

"That makes sense," he murmurs, almost to himself. His gaze suddenly narrows in on her face, landing on her eyes intently. "Well, Katniss. This is just a business deal, like you said."

"That was mean of me," she admits, lowering her eyes. "I'm sorry. I was just-"

"- _like you said,_ " he continues, his eyes glittering. "And in business, we offer training to new hires."

She cocks her head at him warily. "Training?"

He nods. "Yes," he says, his voice deep with sudden authority. "I'm going to train you how to suck my cock."

It should be offensive, his tone, his words, everything— but instead, she feels a thread of pure wanton lust strum through her. She feels purposeful, and more self-assured. "And when you've sucked me off to my satisfaction, I'm going to fuck you like it's my job," he adds calmly.

"Okay," she says, her voice wavering. But it's not out of fear.

It's something like desire.

"Look at me." She meets his gaze again. "Do you agree?"

"Yes," she says, swallowing.

"Alright," he allows, his eyes raking over her form. "Coat your tongue in saliva. I want it wet, like your pussy." She almost chokes on her tongue, her face burning at her words. But he's right. She's  _wet_ , even wetter now because of his dirty mouth. "If you were mine, and we were better prepared, I would use coconut oil," he says conversationally, watching her mouth work. "But we'll start this way."

"You started out really well," he says, reaching down and stroking his erection steadily. "You don't have to use your hands right now. Just lick the head, like before." She bows her head, her hair falling into a dark curtain around her face as she does as he says, swirling the head with her tongue, his precum tangy but not off-putting like she would have thought.

"Yes," he groans, and she lifts her heads to see him looking at her with hooded desire. "Lick the underside of my cock." She does, slowly, then faster, working her way back up to suckle on the tip again. His fisted hand taps her chin as he strokes his shaft out of sync with her tongue. "That's good," he praises her in a slightly softer voice than before, his other hand running through her hair as she alternates between light licks, mere brushes of tongue, and harder ones, as if he's an ice cream cone.

"Now tuck your lips over your teeth," he says, his voice rough with effort. "When you take my dick in your mouth, let it slide against the roof of your mouth. Only go as far as comfortable, and jerk me off with your hand." He releases himself and pulls her hand to cover his, guiding her hand in a rhythm as she clumsily but methodically bobs her mouth over his cock.

"Fuck,  _fuck_ ," he swears, and she looks up at him from beneath her lashes. She's pleased to see his face is flushed, one of his hands fisting the bed covers while the other one that was helping her stroke his erection falls away. "Damn, that's good." His eyes are heavily lidded as he regards her, his mouth parted slightly. Every groan that escapes his lips causes a streak of pride to rush through her. Soon enough the embarrassment and the worry she had felt when she had misspoken with him about their "business" arrangement falls away when his back arches from the bed when she takes the initiative to roll his balls teasingly with her free hand.

"Alright," he gasps, pushing her shoulder gently to let her know to stop. "That's enough."

She releases him, her eyebrows narrowing in confusion.

"It's not you," he says, panting slightly. "I don't want to come yet. I'm not nineteen anymore." He sees her blank face and elaborates, "It takes a little while longer to recover, and I'm impatient."

"Oh," she says, wiping her mouth. She can feel her own arousal leaking down her leg, and she feels both self-conscious and unbearably turned on all at once. She shifts a little on her knees, watching as he fumbles with the bedside table. He must be looking for a condom, she realizes. God. She was just going to have unprotected sex with a stranger. Turned on by blow jobs and completely irresponsible...who the hell is she.

"Take off your panties, but leave the stockings," he says, his voice thick as he rolls on the condom. She does as he asks, sitting back and sliding them down her legs as he watches her with lidded eyes. "Now come here." She crawls forward and straddles him awkwardly when he gestures toward his lap. "I want you to ride me."

She blinks at him and nods, realizing this is probably the most comfortable position for him right now, but she's also incredibly worried. "Okay," she says, biting her lip. She decides for honesty. "But I don't know how," she adds reluctantly.

"I've got you," he says, one hand on her hip and the other reaching for his cock. He lines it up at her entrance and pushes down on her hip, indicating she should drop down. Her nose flares as she feels the head nudge between her lower lips. "Look at me." His voice is rougher than it ever has been, and when she meets his eyes, she can see desire and control warring there. "Do you want me, Katniss?"

"Yes," she sighs, rocking her hips, and they both groan as he slides through the wetness between her legs.

She bucks in surprise when he swipes a finger through her folds. "I thought so," he says. "You're positively dripping for me. Are you ready? Or do you want me to lick your pussy again?"

She shudders at his words, her flat abdomen tense and quivering as she holds herself above him. "N- no, I want you inside me," she stutters.

Satisfaction flickers in his gaze, his lips lifting in triumph. "Then fuck me," he commands, his eyes are trained on hers as she lowers herself down, and they both groan when he passes through wet, grasping heat.

"Oooo," she groans, her mouth dropping in shock at how full she feels. It's a little uncomfortable and she feels pinched, but in a surprisingly good way considering how long it's been for her.

"You're so tight," he grunts, his hand sliding up her torso to cup her breast, his thumb circling her nipple.

"Thank you," she replies with difficulty, distracted by the cock steadily being impaled between her legs.

They both freeze, staring at each other. "Oh god," he chokes out with a little laugh, his hand dropping from her breast. He runs it across his face in disbelief. "You just thanked me."

"What else am I supposed to say?" she cries, flattening downward in sudden frustration. Her breath whooshes out of her in surprise when she realizes she just buried him inside her to the hilt.

"Easy there," he says soothingly, his hand rubbing her hip. "That was too fast."

"I'm fine," she says with dignity, her hands splayed out on his abdomen for balance. "Don't lose your steam now, hardass."

"I can't help it," he sighs in resignation, leaning back and staring at her. He squeezes her side. "You're adorable without even meaning to be. Funny. And you're beautiful. I don't want to be rough or callous with you."

_No. No. No. Too personal._

"What if I want that?" she asks, experimentally rocking back and forth. His eyes shut in pleasure before opening again.

"You do?" he asks, his pupils fat.

"Yeah," she pants, lifting up and down, clumsy but deliberate in her motions. "I want it so bad. I want you to fuck me like it's your job," she throws his earlier words back at him.

The world tilts as she finds herself flat on her back, and she blinks up at him as he hovers over her, still firmly encased inside of slick walls.

Her hands slide up to grasp his shoulders as he gives a sudden sharp thrust, and her head drops backward with a soft thud onto the silken pillow behind. "Is this- I mean, can you do it like this?" Katniss asks.  _Please say yes._

"You tell me," he murmurs, and then he's moving inside her, and if he's favoring his good leg more than the other, she doesn't notice because he's sliding into her perfectly, fitting like a puzzle piece that hits her just right. She gasps when his lips close around her nipple, sucking and flicking the taut bud as he slows down his tempo to deliberately even thrusts.

It's  _maddening_.

Her hands slide from his shoulders to wrap around his back. She arches into him, desperate for friction, for contact, for  _something_.

"You feel so good," he praises her, releasing her breast with a wet pop. His hands fist the sheets on either side of her head, and she shivers he leans down and whispers into her ear. "Do you like how I'm fucking you?"

"Ye- _es_ ," she moans, breaking off into a squeak when he bites down on the shell of her ear. "Please, I-" She stops and shakes her head a little, turning her head to look at him.

"What?" he asks with deceptive softness, her hands dropping to her sides uselessly as he sits back on his haunches and slips out of her completely. "Use your words, Katniss."

"No," she moans, her legs still wrapped around him but slung low on his hips. "Come back."

"Where?" he leads her.

"Inside me," she bites her lip. "I'm so empty without your hard cock, Peeta." She writhes and begs, completely shameless as unfamiliar words spill from her mouth.

He nods, a glint in his eye as he thrusts into her again, and she screams as he fucks her in earnest, a hard punishing rhythm that has her arching and bowing off the bed. Time stops, and all she feels is him as he takes her to new heights of pleasure. She reaches for him but he's too far to grasp onto. He shakes his head and grits his teeth, grabbing one of her outstretched hands and placing it where they are joined. "Touch yourself," he urges her. "Touch yourself while I'm inside you."

She whines as he grinds against her, her finger frantically obeying him as she circles her clit.

"You gonna come?" he pants. "Tell me when you're close."

"I'm close," she cries. "Oh god, I'm so close Peeta."

He rotates his hips and pushes at an angle, and she shrieks, her hand falling away as she starts to come violently. She opens her mouth to tell him but she loses all words as his own hand takes up the rhythm that she lost, her abdomen jerking spastically as an orgasm wracks her body. He rubs at her clit furiously, riding out her waves of pleasure that are still coursing through her veins.

"Fuckkk," he groans. "I'm, oh...oh  _fuck_ , I'm coming." He stills, his big hands squeezing her hips as empties into the condom, still pushed deep within her. He makes a few lazy thrusts, grunting as he continues to spurt out his release.

He collapses on top of her, and the warm weight of him feels good as the sweat rapidly dries on her skin in the cool, climate controlled room. One of his legs is entangled between her own while the nub of his other thigh rests on hers. She wraps an arm around him and draws him closer, panting into his neck and she runs a soothing hand across his damp back.

"Did I do good?" he asks, his voice muffled into her shoulder.

She laughs a little. "Like it was your job," she reassures him, echoing his words again.

He draws back and rolls over to his side. She feels a strange loss as he slips out of her, and is a little disturbed as how comforting it is when his hand still rests on her naked hip. "You're teasing me," he says, a tired smile of surprise on his lips as he stares at her.

"Maybe a little," she agrees. "Can't I mix business with a little pleasure?"

"That didn't sound like business to me." His tone is unreadable as he reaches up and brushes a dark strand of hair from her cheek, his hand resting there for a moment.

"Maybe…" she trails off, looking at him beneath her lashes. She doesn't know if it's the afterglow of great sex, or the way he's looking back at her, but she feels disarmed. Willing. Stupidly hopeful.

"Yes?" he coaxes her.

She opens her mouth, but whatever she was about to say is cut off as a mellow but insistent tone rings out into the room.

"What's that?" she asks instead, sitting up in confusion. A look of intense frustration passes his face as the tone stops and starts repeatedly.

"The doorbell. Someone is here," he says, his nostrils flaring.

"Like...room service?" she asks doubtfully, wincing when the tone echoes in a more frantic pace throughout the room, as if someone is rapidly pressing a button over and over again.

"No," Peeta says, sitting up and removing the condom quickly, tying it off and leaning over to drop it into the waste bin beside the bed. "Katniss, I need to apologize in advance."

" _Why?_ " she asks, eyes wide as she watches him briskly reattach his prosthetic limb and slide into his briefs. He sighs and stands, handing her the panties that she had discarded earlier.

"Because you're about to meet my brother." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless all of you readers for hanging in there and being so supportive after all this time. You are truly the best. Thank you beyonceofpanem and amelia day for pre-reading, and also Baronesskika for the kick in the pants during her FYF challenge.
> 
> I'm peetaspenis on tumblr, come hang out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been awhile, I know. Forgive me. Thank you to my beta Shannon (all mistakes are mine).

Katniss presses a hand to her stomach when she feels it trying to drop down to her shoes.

 

 _His brother?_ She isn’t prepared for this.

Peeta frowns when the persistent ringing of the doorbell elevates to a _bang bang bang_ on the door. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, running a hand through his damp blonde hair. He clumsily pulls on his pants, grimacing with the effort. “As you can tell, my brother is, ah, a little irritating.”

 

She wants so badly to help him, but she senses it would be an unwelcome offer. Katniss may not have known him for long, but she’s well aware of the importance he places on having dignity and self-sufficiency within his disability. She reminds herself that he’s been dressing and taking caring of himself long before she came along.

 

“What are we going to tell him?” Katniss asks, retrieving her clothes and redressing as well. She looks around the room and bites her lip. “Should I hide?”

 

“Hide?” he echoes, visibly disturbed. He stops while mid-buttoning his dress shirt, and her eyes flick to the tantalizing expanse of exposed skin even though she has already seen every naked inch of it. “No, of course not. I’m not hiding you.”

 

“So we should lie,” she guesses matter-of-factly. She shakes her hair out and braids it again. Peeta watches her, his mouth slightly parted. She cocks her head at him, and the glazed look in his eye finally clears. “About what I am,” she clarifies, expecting a response.

 

_Riiing. Riiiing. Bang Bang._

 

He rubs his cheek, leaving a pink mark behind. “I don’t see why we have to explain anything,” he replies slowly. “You’re a beautiful woman whom I’m spending time with. That’s all he needs to know.”

 

Katniss regards him, the skepticism obvious on her face. “All right.” She taps her fingers on her thigh. “I’ll defer to you.”

 

“No.” He crosses the room and holds her hands with his, his mouth drawn in a stubborn line. “We’re in this together.”

 

Her breath catches at his proximity, and she’s immediately reminded of the chemistry between them. Even the touch of his fingers on hers is enough to send a fissure of pleasure spiraling down her belly.

 

“Together,” Katniss repeats. She smiles reassuringly when he raises at an eyebrow at her, as if silently asking for her permission to proceed. “Okay.”

 

He nods and walks toward the doorway, still holding one of her hands. She follows behind him, a little dazed. They pass his wheelchair when they enter the hallway, and Peeta looks back at her almost in warning. She wisely keeps her mouth closed and doesn’t suggest he use it again, though when he turns around, she can’t help but frown at his pronounced limp.

 

_BAM BAM BAM._

“Which one is it?” Katniss asks when they’re nearer to the front door. She remembers Peeta confiding that he isn’t close with either of them, but she’d like to know whom to expect. “Which brother, I mean?”

She sits down on a plush couch in the living area and watches Peeta walk to the door.

 

“Rye,” he says lowly. His hand comes to rest on the doorknob, his body half facing her. “The middle brother. He’s actually the best case scenario.”

 

“Peeta!” a muffled voice calls out from behind the door. “What the hell? I know you’re in there.”

 

He sighs. “Ready?”

 

Katniss shrugs, praying that this isn’t going to be as awkward as she suspects it will be. “As I’ll ever be.” She crosses and uncrosses her legs.

 

“Answer your damn phone,” Rye says upon entrance, brushing past Peeta a little too callously for Katniss’ liking. “You could’ve been dead for all I knew.”

 

“I’m touched,” Peeta replies dryly, shutting the door behind his brother. “I’m sure it was my well-being that brought you here tonight.”

 

“How do your underlings get ahold of you? You’re the head of the company.” His brother looks at him accusingly. “Or is it just your family’s calls that you screen?”

 

“Do you really want to chat about the logistics of business and family right now?”

 

Rye shrugs off his jacket and throws it onto the coat rack. “Don’t get snarky with m—” He stops, his eyes widening when they land on Katniss.

 

She fiddles with her hair and gives a little wave. “Hi.”

 

“And who is this?” He eyes her with appreciation and more than a little surprise.

 

“This is Katniss,” Peeta announces. He walks into the living area and takes a seat on the couch next to her. She’s a bit disconcerted by how much his presence relaxes her. “Katniss, this is my brother, Rye.”

 

Rye claps his hands together with impish delight, appearing more like a teenage boy than a grown man. “Now I know why you’ve locked yourself away in the tower.”

 

“Don’t start,” Peeta says, looking at her apologetically. “Please be civilized around Katniss.”

 

“Oh, c’mon.” Rye shakes his head and walks to the wet bar, giving them his back while pouring a decanter of brown liquor into a highball glass. He turns around to address Katniss, who’s sitting a little more stiffly than before. “I don’t mean to be crass, but you have to understand my burning need to tease my uptight little brother. I can’t remember the last time he had a lady friend.”

 

Peeta sucks in a breath, barely audible except that she’s sitting rather next to him. She’s mortified for him rather than personally embarrassed.

 

Rye waves his glass in the air for emphasis. “I mean, it’s been years. Delly did a real number on your ass, didn’t she?” He looks at Peeta and shakes his head.

 

“Please stop.”

 

“Hey, I’m thrilled!” Rye says. “I seriously thought I’d have to hire a date for you. I was getting concerned.” He winks as if he made a great joke, and Katniss swallows.

 

“Imagine that,” she says.

 

“Say, you’re going to the wedding this weekend, right?” Rye asks her.

 

“Um.” She looks at Peeta with helpless eyes.

 

“That’s the last thing Katniss wants to do,” Peeta says calmly, only the tightening of his fingers around the couch cushions belying his discomfort. “She doesn’t care for weddings.”

 

She jerks her head and looks at him. _How did he know that?_

He quirks his lips back at her, and she laughs inwardly at his _lucky guess_ expression.

 

“What?” Rye is visibly astonished. “What sort of woman doesn’t like a wedding?”

 

“I don’t even want to go,” Peeta says, ignoring Rye’s question. “Why would she?”

 

“Tough. You have no choice.” He waves his glass dismissively. “I don’t understand why you and Bran can’t just get along.”

 

“You and I barely get along.”

 

Katniss shifts in discomfort and eyes the door. If she had her purse readily available, she would probably be sprinting for the exit right now, no matter how fond she’s grown of Peeta.

 

“Don’t be like that, little brother,” Rye says.  He drops into a wingback chair across from the couch, his legs pushed out in an insouciant sprawl. He looks back and forth between her and his brother, his blue eyes contemplative. “I swear, your sense of humor went away with your leg.”

 

Peeta’s jaw tenses.

 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” Katniss blurts out, shocked.

 

“Katniss—” Peeta starts, grabbing for her hand, but she jerks it away.

 

“Seriously. You’ve been a dick since the moment you showed up—-unannounced, by the way—at Peeta’s door.” She points at him and leans forward, her eyes intense. “Why are you even here?’

 

Peeta stares at her in shock, his hand rubbing his neck. His brother’s jaw is practically on the floor.

 

And then Rye starts to clap.

 

“You picked a real winner,” he says with a chuckle, standing up. “Truly impressive.”

 

“Don’t patronize me.” She glares at him.

 

Rye holds his hands out. “I would never,” he says, his voice equals parts mocking and amused. “I know when I’m not wanted.” He looks at Peeta. “I just dropped by after leaving Bran’s room. Wanted to give you a heads up that he’s pissy that you beat him to the penthouse tonight.”

 

Peeta frowns. “Why would he want to stay here? He lives a block away.”

 

Rye shrugs, downing the rest of his drink and sitting it on the coffee table with a _clink_. “Something about Cashmere wanting to play ‘blushing virgin’ until the wedding. She told him it’s classier to live together _after_ they’re married.”

 

“They’re getting married in two days,” Peeta says dryly. “They’ve been living together for two years.” He and Rye exchange a brotherly look, the first Katniss has seen of the night. It’s endearing. 

 

“Well, I’m out of here,” Rye announces. “Katniss, it was delightful to meet you.”

 

“I’m sure,” she replies.

 

He walks toward the door before turning around again. “I’ll see you both at the wedding.” Rye points at Peeta. “I’ll let Mother know to expect your _charming_ plus one.” And then he’s gone.

 

A clock ticks in the silence of Rye’s departure. Peeta clears his throat and turns to her.

 

“My hero,” he says, twisting his lips when he takes in her confused expression. “You stood up for me to my big, bad brother.”

 

“Oh.” She shrugs a shoulder a little awkwardly at his teasing. “He was being an ass.”

 

“That’s his way,” Peeta says. “It’s how he deals with my deformity.”

 

She scowls and crosses her arms. “Don’t say that.”

 

“You can’t be sensitive if you’re a Mellark.” He gives her a self-deprecating smile. “My whole family handles it that way. Believe me, you’ll get used to—” He cuts off his sentence, his expression dropping.

 

Katniss’ face burns at the realization of what he almost said, and she busies herself with standing up and walking to the kitchen.

 

“Gonna grab my phone,” she says.

 

 _You’ll get used to it_. As if they have a future—as if she were really going to meet his family. As if she would have _ever_ met his brother without this bizarre twist of fate that led to her fucking Peeta for money.

 

And from the look on Peeta’s face, he must realize the same exact thing. Even if he had expressed a desire earlier to get to know her outside of the confines of tonight’s arrangement, having to face the shame of introducing her to his brother must have brought reality crashing down on his head.

 

Katniss grabs her purse from the kitchen counter and scrolls through her texts, noting a few from Prim. She squares her shoulders and walks back into the living room, her wounded pride giving way to concern when Peeta struggles to stand up, presumably to follow her.

 

“Hold on,” she says, moving quickly down the hall.

 

Peeta’s face grows stormy at the sight of the wheelchair she’s pushing toward him. “No,” he says. “I don’t need it.”

 

“You do,” Katniss retorts. “God, Peeta. Stop being so damn stubborn.”

 

He exhales sharply, closing his eyes before dropping down into the chair. “Fine.”

 

“Okay,” she says, wiping her hands on her dress. She walks to the door and slips on the heels she kicked off earlier in the night before turning to face Peeta. She falters for a moment at the dismayed look on his face. “I’m going to go.”

 

“So soon?” He runs a hand through his hair. “I thought—”

 

“It’s been fun. It really has. You’re a great guy.” She forces a smile. “But we both know this isn’t going anywhere. We’re not...compatible.”

 

Peeta stares up at her, his face shuttering closed at her words. “I see.”

 

A pang of disappointment runs through her veins, which immediately pisses her off. What else did she expect? For him to argue? To beg her to stay? She wasn’t even a good fuck.

 

“It was nice meeting you,” she says lamely, her hand on the doorknob.

 

“Katniss,” he says forcefully. “Wait.”

 

Her heart beats in anticipation and surprise. She turns back toward him, but he’s already wheeling out of view. She follows him into the kitchen and watches in confusion when he stops at the counter.

 

Peeta reaches for something that’s lying next to a stack of envelopes, and it takes her a moment to comprehend what he’s doing, even when he uncaps his expensive pen that he abandoned earlier after writing down...the going rate for the night…

 

The crisp noise of him tearing away a check from his checkbook brings her tumbling back down to earth.

 

Peeta turns in the chair and holds it out to her. “This is yours.”

 

Katniss stares at the check, unmoving. “I...”

 

“Please, let’s not do this.”  His expression is unreadable. “You and I both know you need it. It’s why you’re here. It’s why you agreed to sleep with me.”

 

She winces. “But I didn’t the stay the whole night.”

 

“Even still,” Peeta says, unwavering. “I got what I wanted.”

 

 _Ow_. Wow.

 

Katniss nods curtly, taking the check from his extended hand. “All right.”

 

And then she turns on her heel and walks out.

 

* * *

 

 

She unlocks the apartment door, her shoulders slumping in exhaustion.

 

“It’s probably better that I’m getting canned tomorrow,” she mumbles to herself.

 

“Who’s getting canned?”

 

Katniss jumps, whirling around to face her sleepy sister. “Good grief, Prim.” She runs a hand across her face. “You scared me to death.”

 

“Likewise,” Prim retorts, flicking on the hall light. “I didn’t think you’d be home tonight.”

 

“Well.” A small sigh of relief escapes her throat after kicking off her heels. “My plans changed.” She throws her sister a half-hearted smile and tosses her purse onto their second hand couch. “I’m gonna go to bed, okay?”

 

“Katniss.”

 

She stops and turns toward Prim. “Yes?”

 

“You’d tell me…” She bites her lip. “You’re okay, right? Your job?”

 

Katniss stiffens. “Yeah. It’s okay. Events like this are just a bitch.” She pastes on an amused expression. “You know I hate being social.”

 

God, she hates lying to her sister, but she’d rather take a bullet before admitting to Prim that she’s not, in fact, working as a coordinator for an elite party planning company.

 

Prim cracks a smile back. “Gotcha. Good night, Katniss.”

 

“Good night, Prim.”

 

She slowly closes her bedroom door, walks to her bed, and collapses face down on the mattress.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re a fortunate young lady,” Effie says, her normally effervescent voice dull with surprise. “I thought I’d be calling you in to release you from employment, but a very interesting call this morning changed the game completely.”

 

Katniss stills mid-yawn. “A call?”

 

“Oh, yes.” Her supervisor rifles through an ornate, gold box before pulling out a white card. “We had a special request for your services.” She grins, her eyes sparkling. “A whole weekend, at that!”

 

“Who?” she blurts out, uncrossing her legs.

 

“You know we don’t normally give out names until arrival,” Effie muses, hesitating. She taps the card on her mahogany desk. “But it’s also best to go into such a high profile date with your eyes open this time. I tried to suggest one of our more _experienced_ girls, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he’d heard good things about you.” She eyes Katniss with doubt. “We can’t have a repeat of last night.”

 

“I swear I’ll do better.”

 

“You _mustn’t_ be late.”

 

“I won’t,” Katniss promises. “Last night was a fluke. The elevator—”

 

“No excuses,” she interrupts firmly. “This is simply your last chance, and Peeta Mellark is not someone we want to disappoint.”

 

 _Oh my god_.

 

"...Peeta Mellark?" Katniss echoes, her voice faint.

 

"Yes. You've heard of him?" Effie sounds pleased. "The odds were in your favor today."

 

* * *

 

Katniss twitches as she waits on the sidewalk two days later. She’s a little early, but she has nothing better to do but wait for the car her client— _Peeta_ —is sending to her building. She shifts the bag strung over her shoulder, packed light per instructions from Effie.

 

She brushes an errant strand of hair out of her eyes and watches as a sleek, black town car pulls to the curb. The driver emerges, whisks the bag away from her shoulder and opens the door before she blink. She slides into the backseat and sucks in a breath at the sight of the face that greets her.

 

“Hi,” Peeta says.

 

She takes her time buckling the seat belt. “I didn’t expect you.”

 

He lifts an eyebrow. “Oh? Did you think you’d be going to the wedding alone?”

 

“I thought we’d be meeting at the airport.” She scowls at his teasing tone. “What’s this all about, Peeta? Why did you ask for me?”

 

His smile fades. “I needed a date for the event. That’s all.”

 

“Really?” she scoffs. “I truly doubt you needed—” she stops and lowers her voice at his warning look that he shoots toward the driver “—an escort for _that_. I don’t care what Rye said. You can do better than that.”

 

“Well, I wanted you,” he says, his expression growing remote. “And that’s what I’m paying for. Are you going to give me a hard time the whole weekend? Or it that extra?”

 

She glares at him. “No,” she grounds out, pasting a smile on her face. It gives her perverse satisfaction to see his frown deepen. “That’s all free.”

 

The tension grows as they arrive to the gates of a private airfield outside of the city.

 

“We’re taking the company jet,” Peeta explains briefly.

 

“How luxurious.”

 

He ignores her pissy tone opens his door after the car stops. She does the same, not waiting for the driver or Peeta to do it for her. She stretches her arms to the sky and watches as Peeta walks toward her, his leg dragging slightly.

 

“Are you feeling okay?” she asks, the words popping out with more concern that she would like.

 

“How solicitous of you.” He flashes a humorless look her way, and they start walking toward the jet. “I’m fine. I was fitted for my new prosthetic yesterday. Just getting used to it.”

 

“Peeta—”

 

“Please don’t mention that damn chair to me.”

 

“No, I was going to say….I’m sorry. For my attitude. I was just caught off-guard by all of this. I didn’t expect to see you again.”

 

Peeta’s shoulders relax, and his expression changes from cold to abashed.  "No. Don’t apologize. I’m terribly sorry for acting so wounded.” He looks at her with rueful eyes. “I'm obviously a bit touchy about the wheelchair. And truthfully, I hated how it ended between us.”

 

The brisk wind slaps at her cheeks, filling them with color. It’s not because she’s filled with heat at the thought of the night before last. “I didn’t like it it either, for what it’s worth.”

 

“It’s worth a great deal,” he assures her. His face tightens when he stumbles a bit, and she smoothly slides her arm through his wordlessly. Peeta glances at her out of the corner of his eye and continues as they approach the ramp of the jet. “It’s just...when you said we weren’t compatible, it reminded me that you’re entirely out of my league.”

 

Katniss barks out a laugh. “Me?” she asks, incredulous. Her voice lowers to a hush. “Peeta. I said that because I’m a prostitute.”

 

“You’re an escort,” Peeta corrects her as they board the jet. “There’s no shame in that. And you’re no better or worse of a person than I am. And considering what a brute I’ve been this morning, I’d say you’re considerably above me in class.”

 

“Woah. Talk about class,” she blurts out, her eyes wide as she takes in the cabin of the jet. A pretty flight attendant with a nametag reading _Lavinia_  greets them, and the girl’s swishy red hair shines as she leads them to their plush seats. “This is...I’ve never seen anything like this.”

 

“Do you fly often?” Peeta asks, clearly pleased with her reaction. He buckles into the seat and helps her when she fumbles with her own.

 

“No, never. You’re my first, so be gentle.” She curses herself for the stupid, awkward joke and quickly looks toward Lavinia, but the other girl is pleasantly stoic. She can tell Peeta wants to laugh, but he’s polite enough to hold it in while the flight attendant gives them a rundown of the flight procedures.

 

“Now, would you like a drink?” Lavinia asks after finishing her spiel. She gives Katniss a quick, understanding look. “Maybe to calm your nerves?"

 

“None for me, thank you.” Peeta turns to Katniss, who hesitates. “But you can have anything you’d like, really. How about a glass of champagne?”

 

“That would be very nice,” she says primly, and he laughs.

 

“Relax,” he encourages her after she has a glass of champagne in her hand. “There’s no expectations here. You can be yourself, which is what attracted me to you so much in the first place. How genuine you are. No artifice.”

 

“Art-what?” she asks after she drains her glass. She makes a face. “Sorry, I should’ve paced myself.”

 

He deftly re-fills her glass with the bottle Lavinia left behind. “Artifice is deceit. Trickery. And you have none of that.”

 

“Considering my job, I’d have to disagree.” She meets his blue, blue eyes and finds that it's easier to deliver compliments after a bit of liquid courage. “But thank you, Peeta. You are...you’re just a really kind man.” 

 

“I’m glad you think so. It’s a nice change of pace, because I’m not known—well, in business, there’s very little room for kindness. And for many years now, business has been my life.”

 

“Sounds like you need to relax,” she says, tapping her foot with his. “With good company.”

 

“That’s why I brought you with me this weekend.” His expressions grows serious. “I should apologize for going over your head to get you here, especially when you made it clear one night was all I would have. You would’ve been well within your rights to refuse.”

 

She’s amazed when the jet takes off so smoothly that she almost doesn’t notice until the flight attendant informs them that they’re now cleared to move freely in the cabin. They unbuckle themselves from their individual seats and move to a comfortable couch instead.

 

“I didn’t really have a choice,” she finally answers. Katniss rushes to explain when his expression become appalled. “No, not like that. The company can’t _make_ us do anything.” She can practically see Peeta sheathing his virtual sword after her reassurance. “It’s just that you actually saved my job. I was about to be chopped, but my boss changed her mind after you requested me. As long as I agreed to come with you today, of course.” She drinks the last of her second glass of champagne and pats his thigh. Her limbs feel pleasantly loose. “Seems you have a pretty powerful name there,  Mr. Mellark.”

 

Peeta looks at her hand that still lingers on his leg. “Well.” He clears his throat and puts his hand on top of hers, tentative at first, but then he gently flips her hand over and interlocks their fingers. “I’m happy it’s useful for something.”

 

She turns her head to smile up at him, and his face is so close that she leans forward and brushes his lips with hers. His lips are just as as she remembers, addictive and soft, and he smells of expensive cologne. She doesn’t want to pull back, but when she does, Peeta looks as if his favorite toy has been taken away from him.

 

“What was that for?”

 

“I just wanted to.”

 

“Not because I’m paying you?” he asks with wry eyes.

 

“In the moment, it wasn’t,” she says, biting her lip. She releases his hand and wipes it on her skirt, trying to take back control of the situation. And her emotions. “But it’s why I’m here with you.” She searches  his face for judgement, or worse, disappointment. She finds nothing of the sort.

 

“I like your honesty,” he says simply, leaning back in his seat. “But this weekend? We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

 

“But we’ve already done...everything. Together.” Her eyes flit away from his. “Why wouldn’t you expect more?”

 

“Everything? Not quite.” He rubs his mouth like he’s hiding a smile. “But even still. It doesn’t matter if we’ve already slept together. Would I like to do it again? Yes. But we’ll just play it by ear, see what feels natural....in the moment,” Peeta adds, using her words. "Let's aim for natural."

 

“Okay.” She gathers her long, dark hair in her hands and pulls it back into a ponytail with a hair tie around her wrist. Then she pauses. “Wait. Do you mind if I put my hair up?”

 

He blinks. “Of course not. It’s beautiful in any style.”

 

“Just checking. The agency girls say men don’t like it pulled back. They want it long and flowing.”

 

“I’m not one to micromanage how you look.” Peeta touches her cheek. “You’re beautiful no matter what, whether you're perfectly put together or just rolling out of bed. Maybe especially then.” His smile turns a touch wicked.

 

She battles a ridiculous surge of embarrassment and inhales. “Talk to me more about your friends and family. You know, what I should expect this weekend. Things I need to know or say.”

 

He follows her subject change with grace. “Well, they’re rich, conservative and not easy to get along with. I’m afraid you’re going to earn your money,” he says with a touch of humorous regret. “Everyone at this wedding, with the exception of a precious few, will be vicious, disingenuous, and pretentious.”

 

“Sounds like most of the girls I work with.”

 

He laughs. “Something tells me you’ll be just fine, Katniss. And at the risk of sounding condescending, just be yourself. You handled my brother perfectly. Won him right over, in fact.”

 

“Really?” she asks, doubt coating the word. “Seemed like he was just a second away from decking me.”

 

“Rye responds to strong personalities—you impressed him because you didn’t put up with his nonsense. And I think he’s hoping we’ll supply some amusement this weekend.”

 

Katniss doesn’t like the sound of that, as if they’re playing some game.  “Amusement? Why?”

 

“Because no one is expecting me to bring a date, let alone a girlfriend. It’s bound to cause a stir.”

 

“Why would they think I’m your girlfriend? I could just be a simple date.”

 

“Oh, Rye’s already told our mother, Bran, and god knows who else that I’ve finally started seeing someone serious enough to introduce to the family,” he says. “Never mind the fact that he did the introducing for me. My brother is a troublemaker to the extreme, and loves to make me uncomfortable.”

 

“I think…” She hesitates, because her impression of Rye is different than that of how Peeta is painting him. “I really think he was happy for you. He seemed, I don’t know. Relieved? Like he was genuinely glad that you were with someone. And not lonely.”

 

“You have an interesting point of view.”

 

“And you’re not being patronizing at all.”

 

He sighs, reaches for champagne bottle and pours himself a glass before refilling hers. “You’re right. I’m not trying to be. But I know Rye, and trust me when I say that he’s not the warm, brotherly type anymore than Bran is.”

 

“Okay.” She looks at him over the rim of her champagne glass. “So, let’s discuss the particulars—we need our stories to match. I’m your girlfriend, Katniss. You met me…?”

 

He smiles. “In an elevator.”

 

She rolls her eyes. “Fine, the truth is easier to maintain. How long have we been together?”

 

“Hmm.” Peeta sips his champagne with a considering look on his face. “A month is sufficient, I think. And since we’re casually dating, it’ll be believable when don’t know every little thing about each other if pressed.”

 

“Right. What’s my job? My sister thinks I work for an event planning company, but she asks minimal questions, and since we’re going to be around people who throw parties often...well. Seems like a bad idea.”

  
Peeta drums his fingers on his thigh. “Do you have any particular dream job? Because this will be your lie to maintain, not mine, so you might want to make it easy on yourself. Stick with a subject you’re comfortable with.”

 

God, she hates talking about her failed dreams. It just reminds her how much she’s sacrificed at the expense of having a roof over her head and being able to send Prim to school. While she’d never regret doing everything in her power to support her sister, it still stings that she’s largely uneducated with no real marketable skills to speak of.

 

“I wanted to work with plants,” Katniss says. “Botany. But...I don’t know enough about the details of that,” she adds quickly. “I think I’ll just say I’m between jobs. I’d rather everyone assume I’m a gold-digger than see through my lies about being a freaking plant scientist.” She looks up at him. “Is that okay with you?”

 

“Perfectly fine with me. I’m quite proud to have you on my arm, whether people think you’re with me for my money or not. That’s how most relationships work with the wealthy, anyhow.” He plucks her now-empty champagne glass from her fingers and places it on a side table next to his own, where Lavinia discreetly whisks it away a moment later. “Now tell me about _you_. The little stuff. I enjoyed just talking to you the other night, just as much as the...more intimate things.”

 

“Really.” The skepticism in her voice is strong.

 

When he smiles like that, it lights up his blue eyes. “Almost as much.”

 

“How about you go first?” she says, kicking her shoes off onto the plush carpet of the cabin. Then she scoots back into the buttery leather comfort of the couch and, just because she can, lies down and places her head on Peeta’s lap. “I feel pressured.”

 

He looks down at her as if she’s some exotic bird that flew onto his shoulder. “All right,” he starts slowly, the words a little flustered. He hesitantly touches her hair, his fingers whisper-soft as he plays with the strands.

 

“That feels so good,” she says, her eyelashes fluttering shut. “My mom used to do that when I was a kid—play with my hair. When she was sober, I mean.” His fingers stop, and her eyes crack open. “Don’t stop,” she implores, suddenly exhausted. It must be all of the champagne that’s getting to her. And it’s so comfortable in his lap...and so very warm...

 

“I won’t,” Peeta promises, smoothing a hand over her forehead before returning to her hair. He pets her head with soothing, monotonous strokes.

 

“Now tell me about yourself. All the little boyfriend things.” She curls into a ball and closes her eyes again. “I’ll just rest my eyes, okay? But I’m listening.”

 

“Well, let’s see. My favorite color is orange.”

 

“Orange?” she asks thickly, already fighting to stay awake.

 

“Don’t judge,” he says with a low laugh. His fingers massage her scalp, and Katniss almost purrs with the pleasure of it. “Not bright orange. Soft, like a sunset.”

 

“Mm. That’s nice.”

 

“When I have free time from the office, I like to paint. Not many people know that. I sleep with the windows open when the weather allows it. Oh, I hate sugar in my tea. And I always double-knot my shoelaces…”

 

His voice is deep, and calm, and as much as she struggles against it, it lulls her into the best sleep she's had in recent memory.

 

* * *

 

Katniss wakes up in a cocoon of warmth. She’s no longer on the couch, but instead rolls over in a large, comfortable bed that doesn’t seem to belong on an aircraft.

 

She lifts her head and meets Peeta’s eyes, which are obscured by a pair of wire rim glasses. He’s reclining against the headboard, and though the television is playing with low sound, he’s watching her instead. Something else trickles along with the initial grogginess that comes from a deep sleep—a thread of sharp awareness, running roughshod down her spine.

 

It’s muscle memory, chemistry, or _something_ inside of her that recognizes and remembers what it was like to have this man inside of her. It’s that same _something_ that causes her to raise up on her elbows and pull him down on top of her by the collar of his shirt.

 

“Katniss,” he murmurs between long, drugging kisses. He stares down at her with slightly glazed eyes, his glasses askew on his handsome face. “Is this what you want?”

 

She makes a miffed noise at the loss of the momentum between them, weary of words. Now she craves action.

 

"You wanted natural.” Katniss sits up and slides the straps of her dress down her arms. She cups her breasts and fights the shyness that threatens to overcome the desire that’s propelling her into this seduction. “Feels natural to me, Peeta.”

 

He groans, the sound low and needy, and then she lands on her back when he pushes her down onto the mattress. His hands shake as he unbuckles his belt and shoves his pants down to tangle around his legs, both prosthetic and real. Her dress is bunched up around her hips while her panties are tugged the opposite direction.

 

“Condom,” he pants, dropping his forehead to hers. The cold metal of his glasses bites into her warm skin, but she likes how the brief discomfort makes the moment more visceral and frantic and _genuine_. “Fuck."

 

She also likes that word on his lips, so much that she dares to say, ‘I’m covered. But I understand if you want to…”

 

That's all it takes for Peeta to surge forward and push his bare cock into her. All of the air leaves her lungs in a rush of sweet, tense pleasure, and her back arches off of the bed.

 

"You feel so good." His voice is thick with pleasure. "As good as I remember. And I've, _oh..."_ A sharp thrust. "God...thought about you, Katniss. Every hour since you walked away." He shifts in position, and a brief grimace appears in place of his mask of enjoyment.

 

“Wait. Your leg,” she protests weakly, even as her arms wrap tightly around his back to urge him forward again. “Should we—I mean, you probably had to... _ohgodthatfeelsgood_...carry me in here... _ah_ , oh shit, do that again….”

 

“It’s fine,” he grits out. He moves his hips in a way that has her biting her lip so hard she draws blood. “Promise.”

 

“Okay, _ah_ , but—”

 

“Katniss,” he says with a strained but genuine laugh. His strong arms resting on either side of her head as he moves over her, and he peers down at her with intense eyes. “Be quiet.”

 

But she isn’t quiet, not one bit, not until he covers her mouth with her hand when she starts screaming so loudly that the flight attendant tentatively knocks on the door, causing them to lose it completely. It’s only after Katniss calls out a throaty reassurance and Lavinia has moved away that Peeta finds his rhythm again, and chuckles turn back into tortured groans of their mutual release.

 

“Where are you going?” he protests when she climbs off the bed a moment later, looking so boyish and sated that she quells the mad urge to kiss his cheeks.

 

“Bathroom.” She pauses in her attempt to set herself back to rights. “Want to come?” She can’t help but laugh when he gives her a disturbed look. “Kidding.”

 

“That was fun. _Amazing_ ,” Peeta says when she returns. His clothes are back in their proper place, and his face glistens with a fine sheen of perspiration, but the pinched, stressed looked around his eyes she’d observed earlier that day had disappeared completely. He pulls her onto the bed again. “I have such a good time with you. I know that sounds simple." He smiles down at her. "Too simple, but...if you knew how much it means to me...”

 

She chews on her lip and struggles with a response. “Me, too,” she finally replies. It sounds lame to her, but a dimple appears on his cheek when hears it.

 

Peeta drags her to his chest and makes a contented noise in her ear as he settles around her. “We still have an hour or so until landing. How do you feel about a nap? I fear we’ll need our energy.”

 

“Love a nap,” she murmurs back, ignoring the concerned twinge in the back of her mind. _Napping._ Something an old married couple does.

 

But when she fades into sleep, she can’t help but think about how good—how _natural_ —it feels to be in Peeta’s embrace, and how dangerous thoughts like these are when she’s just a temporary, paid companion.

 

His arm tightens around her. “Stop thinking so hard,” he says lowly. “Rest. Relax. Let me take care of you.”

 

So she does. For now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on tumblr as badnovels if you want to say hello. :) Happy holidays!


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